Page 21 of Game Face

Bouncing. Fucking. Toddler.

“Absolutely.” Bryce glances to Coach Skye, and the two share a nod, as if they’ve cooked this whole thing up together. Now I’m a paranoid lunatic. I need to stop my mind before it runs me out of a job.

“Fantastic. Thanks for today, guys. You were great.”

“Thank you,” Bryce and I say in unison. I feel his eyes flash to me, and I can sense his grin. I’m sure my mouth looks as if it’s about to vomit, so I do my best to force my lips together tight. I can’t muster a smile.

“Hit the showers. We run the full game plan against Tech starting tomorrow. We go hard all week. And Saturday we make a statement.”

Coach says those last few words as he’s walking away. Coach Skye shakes both of our hands, then jogs to catch up to his boss. Bryce is lingering, so I stay back with him, knowing he wants to talk this shit out. I’m not sure I’m ready to be the bigger man, though.

I walk over to the water station, the ground littered with paper cups, and I stoop to clean up.

“The student field crew will get that,” Bryce says.

“Yeah, I know. But we’re fucking pigs, and I don’t mind.” And I need to do something to feel useful.Plus, this keeps my eyes off you, asshole.

Naturally, Bryce picks up the dozens of cups near him on the ground. This new leaf he’s apparently turned over is annoying as hell. I miss selfish Bryce, who would have walked into the locker room with Coach and left me out here to stew on my own.

“Hey, I wanted to run something by you. Uh, it’s . . . awkward, I guess? But I thought it was better coming from me. If you heard it from me, I mean. And it’s meaningless. But you know how people are. Anyway . . .”

I stand with my back to him, my fists full of trash. I walk to the metal bin by our bench and toss the paper cups inside before wiping the sticky Gatorade from my hands onto my pads. With my mouth sealed shut and molars glued together, I turn to face him.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, but the way he’s tethered his hands behind his neck, elbows out as he tips his head back and looks at the blazing sunny sky, has me thinking it’s far-ass-far from nothing.

I literally bite the tip of my tongue as I inch closer to him.

“Just spill it, Bryce. I’m kind of done with you today, and I’d like to get my shit and go home.”

His head falls forward, and when our eyes meet, I get a glimpse of his old competitive flair. His lips part with a hint of a smile, and his head tilts slightly.

“You’re pissed about what Coach said.”

Fuck him, he knows I am.

“I’m fine, Bryce. What is it?”

I’m not fine. And I’m pulling further away from fine by the millisecond. When Bryce chuckles, I decide I’ve endured enough of everything for the day. I shake my head and walk past him, toward the stadium locker rooms. He follows, but gives me a welcome lead. Finally, fucking alone. I get about halfway there before he stops me cold with his words.

“You’re so pissed off now, but wait until you see the picture someone got of Peyton and me at the club.”

“That’s it.” I spin and close the distance between us with a few long strides, flying into him with both hands wrapped around his shoulder pads so I can force the top-heavy motherfucker onto the ground.

He topples quickly and I pin him down, straddling his flailing body while I push his shoulders harder toward the earth.

“Get the fuck off!” He shoves at my chest, but between my leverage and my rage, he doesn’t stand a chance. I won’t punch him because that would leave a mark. Last thing I need is Coach seeing my co-quarterback showing up with a black eye.

“Isn’t it enough yet? Don’t you have enough? Or do you want it all? My whole life?” I shake him, my weight landing on hisupper body over and over. His eyes narrow as I continue to pummel his chest. Slowly, his body goes slack and I finally crawl off him and sit on the ground at his side, sinking my hands into my hair as I grumble.

Bryce sits up, brushing the bits of grass from his hair before leveling me with a hard stare that I deserve. My eyes flit up to catch it briefly.

“Fuck, man. I’m stealing your life? Are you that fucking clueless?” His words spill out in an exasperated, breathy laugh.

I wave my hand at him and shake my head as I drop my gaze back to the ground. He didn’t even throw any punches. I’m not sure if we’ve grown or are just chicken shits now.

“I will never, in my lifetime, find a woman—let alone a whole damn family—like Peyton and hers. If I had one superpower, it would be to trade places with you in a heartbeat. So pardon me if I can’t wrap my fuckin’ mind around you feeling threatened.”

My chest puffs with a short laugh, and I lean forward to spit out the pieces of grass that found their way into my mouth. Rolling my head to the side, I meet his stare, and that flash of arrogance I saw before is gone. Now he just looks sad.

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